Light at the End
by Sandylee007
Summary: When Dr. John Watson wakes up badly injured in a well he knows instantly that time is running out. What in the world happened? And how is he going to make it out of this mess? SET SIX MONTHS POST-RETURN A POTENTIAL THREE OR FOUR SHOT
1. Waking Up to a Nightmare

A/N: This story idea just came to me out of nowhere and refused to leave me alone, soooo… (smirks sheepishly)

WARNINGS: Language, some vivid description of injuries, perhaps a bit of violence… (arches an eyebrow) Well, for my story that's a incredibly short list!

DISCLAIMER: Oh boy… IF I DID own anything I would've hurried up with series 3. (pouts) (I'm a impatient person, especially when it comes to 'Sherlock'.)

Awkay… Before I change my mind let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy this one.

TAKES PLACE: Half a year after Sherlock's return from 'the dead'.

* * *

**_Light at the End_**

* * *

Waking Up to a Nightmare

* * *

Dr. Watson woke up. And instantly regretted it. He groaned when pain traveled through him like wildfire, seeming to consume him in whole.

This… had to be the worst hangover he'd ever had.

He groaned, unable to stop himself even though the sound seemed to tear his skull to pieces. He spent a few moments attempting to pull himself together. It was around then the world around him began to make sense.

He wasn't in his own bed. Wasn't in a bed at all. Was that… muddy ground below him? The smells around him… Was he in a forest?

What _the hell_ was he doing in a forest?

With another moan John attempted to search through his memories, fumbling futilely for even the smallest bits and pieces. Nothing came to him. All answers slipped right through his fingers like quicksand.

The last thing he remembered was having a fight with Sherlock Holmes, which was nothing uncommon especially after the man's return from the dead. They fought way too much, the two of them. John decided that he'd need to do something about it.

But first he'd have to figure out why in the God's name he was in a forest and how he was supposed to get out of it.

John spent several moments picking up whatever little strength he'd be able to summon. It was highly likely that he passed out at some point. But in the end he felt courageous and determined enough to open his eyes.

John prepared himself for the assault of merciless sun. Nothing such came. Instead he stared right into pitch black darkness. His heart began to hammer while panic took over for a moment.

_What…?!_

The fact that it was night wasn't, however, the most terrifying part. What almost rendered him to a anxiety attack was that the trees he was just able to see were far too high up. And there were stone walls around him, towering in a circle formation.

A well. He was in a fucking well. In the middle of a forest who knows where.

Struggling and swallowing furiously to keep the terror from taking over entirely John allowed his thoughts to whir for a moment. Then did what came instinctively. "Sherlock!" His voice was hoarse and pathetic, most likely didn't even carry out of his stone walled prison.

Was Sherlock somewhere nearby? Did whoever toss him here harm the detective as well? Was Sherlock alright?

John's cry received no response. Not that he'd been optimistic enough to expect one. A weight plummeted all the way to his stomach, making him feel sick.

"Sherlock!"

It was of no use. For some reason it seemed that he had absolutely no voice left. Feeling furious, defeated and scared he slumped further to the mudd below him.

Able to do little else John allowed himself to catalogue his injuries. It was, after all, something that came naturally to him even in his far from coherent state. He needed _anything_ to focus on for a few moments or he'd lose his mind entirely.

It was quite clear that he had a concussion, hopefully not a contusion. It was unwise to surrender to the exhaustion hanging heavily on him, then. Pity. Sleeping sounded like a very tempting idea. It hurt to breathe enough to suggest that one or several of his ribs had been broken. He could only wish that by some miracle that injury wouldn't turn out to cause bigger problems. His left leg felt like it'd bent to unnatural angle and he could feel that parts of his pants had been soaked. A open fracture, then. Wonderful. Such was bound to earn a infection under these conditions. His shoulder, the same bloody one that'd already been shot, didn't feel right, either. He didn't quite dare to take a look to find out just what was wrong with it. His back also didn't seem to be alright. Moving was out of the question, then. Along with that damage he most likely had a large number of smaller injuries and bruises. It felt like his whole body had been one big open wound. He preferred not trying to guess how much blood he'd lost and how much he was losing with each passing minute.

While John's mind drifted he noted absently that he wasn't in as much pain anymore. The thought made him shiver. The blood loss and cold were pulling his body further and further into a state of shock. He wondered how much longer he'd be able to stay awake. The thought was nothing short of mortifying.

If he'd fall asleep here, like this…

"Sherlock!" he whimpered, a searing sensation finding its way to his eyes. "Sherlock! Anyone! Please…!" His voice broke and faded away.

He'd never felt so alone in his life. Or actually he had, just once. The memories made him want to vomit. Or perhaps it was the concussion.

"Help!"

There was a great chance that he'd catch the attention of whoever put him into this situation. He didn't care too much. No one finding him meant just as sure of a dead, only a lot more slowly and painfully.

Breathing was getting harder. John wondered with a great deal of dread just how close one of his lungs was to collapsing, or if there was internal bleeding. How much time he had left.

* * *

/ _"Hurry up, John! The murderer isn't going to sit around waiting for us. You're wasting time."_ /

* * *

John's eyes widened a fraction and he blinked twice, his eyes darting around in the dark. For a moment desperate hope bubbled in his aching chest. "Sherlock…"

Of course there was no response. He was still alone in the dark. Alone in this nightmare. But it was better that way, really.

There was no way he could've wished that Sherlock had been with him in _this_.

John unleashed a choked, shuddering exhale, staring at the cloud covered sky.

He just wished that Sherlock was alright, somewhere out there. And if such was possible that the detective would, in his usual miraculous, amazing way, find him on time. And, unless it was asking entirely too much, that he wouldn't die out here all alone, in a place from which his body would never be found. The thought was just too miserable.

John growled at himself, his eyes sharpening and narrowing.

Enough with thinking about death. He _wasn't_ going to die, period. He was far tougher than that. And Sherlock was just fine, too. Sherlock _would_ come. He'd just have to hang on.

The universe, apparently, decided to show its poor sense of humor right there.

John's eyes were dangerously close to drifting closed when he realized there was something moist on his cheeks. At first he thought that he'd broken into tears. But then his hazy eyes drifted upwards, spotting the rain beating down all of the world around him.

It was pouring rain.

And John was quickly losing his fight to stay awake.

* * *

/ _"If you were dying, if you were being murdered, in your last few seconds what would you say?"_

_"Please, God, let me live."_

_"Use your imagination!"_

_"I don't have to." _/

* * *

TBC, OR NOT?

* * *

A/N: And that, my dear readers, is how it begins. (gulps) Poor John, let's hope that'll he'll be fished out of this mess SOON! He'd really need Sherlock right now.

Soooo… The ball's in your court, really. How was that – any good, at all? Would you be interested in reading two to three more chapters? PLEASE, leave a note to let me know! First chapters are always absolutely nerve wrecking so it'd mean A LOT.

In any case, thank you so much for reading!

Who knows, maybe I'll be hearing from you again…

Take care!


	2. Falling Asleep to Gunfire

A/N: I'm baack! And early, it seems. (smirks) Yay?

First of all, thank you so much for your reviews and support – and this one has so many followers! (beams) They totally mean a lot, you know? So thank you! (HUGS)

Awkay… (takes a deep breath) Because stalling is never a nice thing to do let's go. I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride!

* * *

Falling Asleep to Gunfire

* * *

/ _John had a bad feeling about the case from the very beginning._

_Over the course of four months six hikers had gone missing in Epping Forest. Each of them were in a excellent physical condition, intelligent, healthily cautious, very much able to protect themselves. So far the police had been able to find absolutely no clues. It was like those people had simply vanished from the Earth. Swallowed up by the woods._

_Sherlock, of course, found such a mystery deeply fascinating. John knew that his friend would accept the case long before the man's actual response. What was it with Sherlock and treacherous forests?_

_John really, truly wished that he'd opened his mouth and emitted a protest. Not that it would've been of a lot of use with the detective. He should've listened to his innermost feelings. But he didn't._

_And so they were in Epping Forest while dusk was already falling upon them. It chilled John how it seemed that they were all alone. Not a lot of people ended up to the part of the woods they currently occupied. Those few who might've had been effectively chased away by the police's public announcement on the disappearances. John was tempted to wonder if the killer was somewhere out there keeping an eye on them._

_John's military instincts activated and he felt a chill at the sound of a branch snapping. Looking to side he discovered that it was just a startled bird. He took a deep, far from steady breath._

_He'd have to calm down or he'd end up getting himself a heart attack._

_He inhaled once more, far more calmly this time. "Sherlock, I think we should…" He turned his head and the rest froze into his throat._

_Sherlock was nowhere to be seen._

_John frowned, taking a couple of cautious steps forward. "Sherlock? Where did you go?" No response. Only the sounds of wildlife. He groaned loudly, running a hand through his hair in a far from pleased gesture. "Great. Bloody fantastic."_

_John contemplated his options. He could try to find his way back home all alone. That, however, would most likely turn out futile because he had no idea of which part of the forest he was in and he had a feeling that he'd only end up running around in circles. Besides, leaving Sherlock alone wasn't an option. Or then he could try and find Sherlock. Equally far fetched but at least there was a slight chance. And it was decided. He much rather took a fool's hope than none at all._

_John didn't have the faintest clue of how long he'd been marching on until he ended up to something that made him freeze to the spot. Somehow he found a small, in daylight most likely amazingly beautiful opening. It was a piece of paradise, really. The area was full of flowers. And in the middle of it was a well._

_John couldn't explain what urged him to do so. But before he could consider the action much further he was walking forward. His heart was hammering furiously while he peered slowly into the well._ _And felt everything inside him turn cold. "Bloody hell…!"_ /

* * *

John was more than a little surprised when he actually managed to wake up. His eyelids felt impossibly heavy while he blinked slowly, desperately attempting to understand just what was going on. His breath hitched at the realization.

So… it wasn't a dream. He was still in the well. Lay on a muddy ground that seemed to be sucking him in slowly yet steadily. And it was still pouring rain, so hard that it was a challenge to breathe against it. Or perhaps there was something wrong with his respiratory system. The thought didn't manage to worry him as much as it should've.

John groaned and wiggled as much as his injuries allowed him to, desperately attempting to find a better position.

Where was Sherlock? They'd been working on a case, he was almost sure of it. So where was the detective? Was Sherlock alright? Had the mad genius even noticed that he was gone?

Feeling a cold brush of despair John focused his eyes on the sky although the rain hurt his eyes. He tried to determine what time it was but with all the dark clouds it was impossible to tell. Was it tea time? Would Mrs. Hudson worry if her boys weren't home for tea?

Surely not, knowing that they had a case.

A terrifying thought struck John, right there. Would _anyone_ notice that he was missing? With Sherlock focused on the case (because John couldn't bring himself to think of any other option), Gregory Lestrade busy with his own job and Harry having resulted to drinking all over again there weren't too many people left. He'd even broken up with his latest girlfriend, Mary, a few weeks earlier. She was a lovely woman but always had a problem with his second job. If she knew of his current predicament she'd most likely click her tongue and say 'I told you so, Watson'.

He was supposed to be at work tomorrow. Or was this already tomorrow? Surely Sarah would notice that he was missing.

John's eyes finally flew wide open when he heard a sound from somewhere above him. What was it? Was someone coming?

Hope fluttered in John's chest. He attempted to push himself to a sitting position but didn't come even close to succeeding. "Sherlock?" he instantly called out, with all the pathetically little volume he managed to summon in his current condition.

The sound came again. John's heart sunk when he recognized it. A thunder, nothing more.

He was tired. So, so tired. Of course it was a dangerous thing to do in his situation and with his injuries but all he wanted to do was sleep. Surely five minutes couldn't hurt?

His eyes fluttered closed before he managed to come to a proper decision.

* * *

/ _Just visible from the mud was a hand. A woman's, with a wedding ring still on it. John didn't need Sherlock's level of skills to figure out what was going on._

_These disappearances… They were definitely murders. If his memory didn't play tricks on him each of them had taken place just before a particularly long period of rain. The well before him was extremely old, full of mud, fallen leaves and bits of the nature around him. The killer must've dumped every single body there. It was no wonder that the police hadn't found them. The whole opening had been hidden so carefully that even he'd found it accidentally. And even if the police did end up to this part of Epping the mud would've swallowed up all evidence long before their arrival. Whatever little might've been left visible the killer would've surely taken care of instantly. And if the police had eventually caught on nature would've erased all evidence from the corpses._

_It was almost the perfect crime._

_"I had a feeling that the two of you would find my secret place." The voice was rich and deep, full of irritation. "It's a pity, really. I quite enjoyed this place. It's nice and quiet, don't you think? The perfect place to die."_

_John turned around slowly to meet a pair of menacing dark eyes. For a moment his heart jumped at the thought that he was staring at Moriarty but then he caught the overgrown, messy light brown hair. The sickly thin and tall appearance._

_John swallowed, his hand reaching out towards where his gun usually was. Only to realize that he'd forgotten it to Baker Street in the haste. "Who are you?"_

_The man snorted, tilting his head. "Is that really the last thing you want to know, Dr. Watson?" A gun was pulled. "Don't worry, I'll make this nice and quick. You'll be an excellent addition to my collection."_

_If there was anything John was it was stubborn. As swiftly as a threatened wild animal he charged forth. The gun slipped from the killer's grasp while they fought furiously, kicks and punches thrown at a dizzying speed. John could feel a impact after another hitting his flesh but didn't care. Couldn't stop. Stopping, giving up, meant certain death. He wasn't about to let this man go after more victims, possibly after Sherlock._

_His resilience lasted until a sharp pain plunged into his side._

_Looking down with a shocked gasp John discovered a knife that'd been struck to his side, close to his ribs. Of course. In the heat of their combat he'd failed to reason that the killer would most likely carry several weapons._

Stupid, stupid, stupid…!

_Before John had the time to finish that thought properly the killer pulled out the knife, making him yelp faintly while fire hot pain sped through him. Taking his opportunity the other began to push him towards the well. John was faster. He grabbed the man's shirt with all of his despair._

_The killer chuckled, shaking his head. "You're a stubborn little thing, aren't you? Like a cockroach." The man sighed. "Why don't you make this easier on yourself and let go?"_

_John's head whirred as he realized that his hold was indeed slipping. It hadn't been raining that much lately. That's why the killer's latest victim hadn't gone down like the man had expected. There was a chance that he wouldn't drown. Perhaps he'd survive the fall and manage to stay afloat for long enough to be found. Maybe he'd manage to stay alive._

_The killer smirked while John's fingers slipped and he lost his last grasp on safety. "Goodbye, John."_

_And he fell. And fell. And fell…_ /

* * *

_"John!"_

John's eyes snapped open and his body perked up, his soldier's instincts kicking in once more. His ears sharpened while he struggled to listen. Only the howl of the wind answered him.

John was fairly sure that some of the wetness on his cheeks was too warm to be rainwater.

He wanted to scream but was almost certain that there was nothing left of his voice. Was there anyone in the woods to hear, anyway? It seemed that he was completely alone.

A violent stab of pain pulled John out of those self pitying thoughts. He groaned, using all his willpower to try and chase away the sharpest edge. Where was the pain coming from? What caused it? He hadn't moved an inch, he swore he hadn't.

And when… did he close his eyes?

He inhaled a deep breath that wheezed in a quite worrying way until he remembered to be careful with his broken ribs. The new assault of agony brought a whimper out of him. In full honesty he would've wanted to howl at the top of his lungs. He was fast on his way to be world of unconsciousness until he managed to snap out of the dangerous path.

NO! He wasn't about to give up. He wasn't about to let himself drift away, especially when he didn't have the slightest clue of what happened to Sherlock.

_Sherlock…_

That certainly gave him a new push towards the conscious world. With a brand new moan John struggled, in the end managing to crack his eyes halfway open. He frowned at what he found, or at least thought he saw.

There, right above the well… What was that shadow? Another person? Was it possible that he wasn't alone, after all?

Yes, his brain confirmed. It was most definitely a man, right there. He couldn't quite see the face but he did see enough to be able to tell.

"Sherlock…?" he breathed out, the relief and hope washing over him and making his heart do an extra jump.

His companion didn't speak a word. Instead the man pulled out something. John frowned again, desperately trying to see. And then he did, all too clearly. His bleary eyes widened a fraction under the realization.

Rays of moonlight shone of metal.

At that very moment John understood entirely too well what the assault of pain he felt before was about. He should've recognized it, really. After all, it wasn't the first time he got shot. But this, he came to think while his mind was fast on its way to shutting down, could very well be the last.

_I'm sorry, Sherlock._

Without him being able to do a thing to stop it his eyes drifted closed. The world began to melt away. Just before it all fell into black he could've sworn that he heard a voice calling out to him.

"_JOHN!_"

He never had the time to find out if there was another jolt of pain.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Okay, now that… was a bit heartbreaking. Quite scary, no? Poor John! And where in the world is Sherlock? He'd better hurry up… (gulps)

Soooo… What's the verdict? Any good, at all? Or junk material? Would you like to read a couple of more chapters? PLEASE, do leave a note and let me know! (gives a totally irresistable look)

Btw, I'm contemplating whether I should switch the POV for the rest of the story. Any thoughts on that?

Until next time, folks, I hope!

Take care!

* * *

**Anna**: I kind of have, haven't I? (smirks sheepishly) Oh, how it warms my heart to hear that you're so eager to read more! I'll try my best not to disappoint you.

Huge thank yous for the review!

* * *

**Sue**: I'm truly happy to hear that you were pleased with the first bit! (beams)

Hmmm, I've been thinking about adding Sherlock's POV, actually. We'll see, we'll see…

Ah, now there's the question! How DID John end up into the forest? And more importantly, how is he going to get out of the well?

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

**Guest**: Quite a bit of open questions, no? (gulps) We'll see just how this story turns out. Let's hope that Sherlock's okay and able to help John before it's too late! Things don't seem too good for our beloved doctor… (winces)

Monumental thank yous for the review! 'Hope you'll enjoy the next one as well.


	3. A Nightmare With No Waking Up

A/N: To be honest I'm quite surprised that I managed to update already. (grins) Hooray?

First, though! Thank you so much for all your reviews and listings! Your love is really making my heart swell with pride and joy. So thank you! (beams and hugs)

Awkay… Because I have a feeling that you may want to get on with the story already, let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

A Nightmare With No Waking Up

* * *

Sherlock's head whirred and all his senses worked on over-drive while he sped through the woods without making much of a sound, careful to spot even the slightest trace of the killer John and he were after. His heart thumped madly with adrenaline, singing with joy over the chase. His head ticked on at a impossible speed.

Where was the killer? He was supposed to be right there in the forest. Every single sign indicated that the next murder would take place today.

Sherlock frowned, sensing something moist on his cheek.

It was already raining, which meant that someone was most likely already dead. Did it mean that he was too late? Surely he couldn't be! His calculations…

"John!" he hissed under his breath. "We'll have to move to another part of the forest. Perhaps he's still somewhere around here."

There was no response. Sherlock's mouth went completely dry while he peered slowly over his shoulder. Only to meet nothing but the forest. His whole body turned impossibly cold while realization sunk in. All breath left him.

As far as he knew the two of them were the only people in the woods. Aside the killer, obviously. So, if the murderer had been looking for a new victim…

How long had John not been following him? Long enough to…?

_NO!_

Sheer despair pushed Sherlock to motion, ushered his body to a impossible speed. His heart was hammering and blood rushed a million miles per hour while he dashed on, no longer particularly caring how much noise he was making. Seconds ticked by in his buzzing head.

He couldn't be too late, it couldn't be too late…

That was when he heard the gunshot.

It felt like he'd been running for ages until he found a forest opening. And a man who was just about to run away. Overgrown hair, tall, far too thin. Highly likely a drug user. So the kills weren't enough of a high.

The killer noticed him. A wild look flashed in the man's dark eyes. It wasn't until then Sherlock noticed the gun. "Oh, the mighty Sherlock Holmes…!" Quickly forming bruises, a quite possibly broken nose, a tooth missing, even some blood. This man had been in a fight very recently. "You'll make a nice addition to my collection. Your blogger did, too."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Where's John?" he growled, his voice hazardously low. "What did you do to him?"

The other sneered. "Don't worry. You'll find out before the end."

The gun was raised but the hand was clumsy and unsteady. Possibly due to broken fingers. Sherlock, on the other hand, was more alert than he ever had been in his life. Or perhaps just out of his mind enough to attack a armed man.

Whatever fight took place earlier had exhausted the man and the injuries appeared to be painful. With Sherlock's skills and experience it took less than a minute and a half to have the killer firmly on the ground, safely relieved of his weapon. But oh, that wasn't enough…

A sickening mental flash of John's bloodied, battered and perhaps even worse body flashed by Sherlock's head. It was more than enough of encouragement. Knowing that some ribs were broken he nudged the murderer's side with his foot. In an instant the man yelled at a deafening volume.

Sherlock scoffed, kicking the gun as far away from the screaming lunatic as he could. "Now, just this once I'm offering kindly… Do stop shouting and tell me where John is."

The killer snorted, tears of pain pooling in his eyes. What came out in the end was something between a hiss and a cry. "Or what?"

Sherlock wasn't in a patient mood. Not when John was in danger, not when he didn't even know if… And so he offered a fast response.

Perhaps John forgot to take a gun but Sherlock didn't. His fingers were quick to reach it. Without the slightest change in his expression he raised the gun and aimed. The killer's eyes widened instantly. "Bloody hell, you can't…!"

"I could. But then you'd be of no use." He lowered the gun and fired. He felt more than a little satisfaction upon hearing the deafening scream the murderer emitted when the bullet pierced his leg.

The man's eyes were wide from pain and terror when they met his. "You… You're insane…! You're gonna…"

Sherlock felt a serious itch to bash the idiot's skull with the gun, repeatedly. Only the fact that it might mean a certain death for John restrained his urges. "I am not going to kill you although you'd certainly deserve as much. As it is you're not even losing a lot of blood. Your other leg is still uninjured but I'd be able to change that. Are you capable of understanding all this?" He went of after receiving a faint nod. "Good. Now, once more… Where… is… John?"

The murderer actually managed to smirk icily at that. "He's… I put him exactly where the others are." Slowly, slowly the man's gaze shifted to right. "All… they way down. He's dead." With some hesitation the detective followed the signaled direction. And right there he noticed something that'd been almost hidden by branches.

A well.

Sherlock felt like somone had shot _him_. A wild look took over his eyes while they stared at the well, his head buzzing with facts and calculations. How long had John been there – supposing that his blogger _was_ there? How badly injured? How much time did he have left?

The killer unleashed a wet, bitter laugh. There was a touch of hysteria and manic delight in those wide eyes. "He kept calling out to you, you know?" Clearly shock was setting in, erasing enough of the pain to pull some stress off the voice. "Sounded absolutely pathetic, down there. 'was kind, to put him out 's misery."

Absolutely everything inside Sherlock flared. He acted before he had the slightest chance of thinking through his actions. He used his gun but not in the way his whole being would've desired. With two long strides he'd closed the distance between them. The murderer's eyes widened still but the man didn't have the chance to utter a sound. The butt of the gun struck the lunatic's head, reducing him to a limp heap on the forest floor.

Sherlock didn't waste time on marveling his achievement. Because at that very moment he knew, with absolute certainty, where John was. And he didn't have a second to waste.

Sherlock's legs were pathetically weak when he dashed to the well, infuriatingly scared to look down. His hands actually trembled when he tossed away the branches at a furious pace, desperately attempting to be fast enough. Convincing himself with all his willpower that he _wasn't_ too late already.

"John? Can your hear me? Are you down there?"

He heard nothing but silence and birds in nearby trees. No John. It was wrong, all of it. John _always_ responded to his voice, no matter how bad things got between them. Why wasn't John answering him now?

The last of the branches were removed. Finally allowing Sherlock a view to a sight he would've much rather never, ever faced. Sherlock could've sworn that his heart stopped for a couple of seconds, as did his breath.

Sure enough John was down there. Covered in blood, partially having sunken to the mud. Eyes closed, skin unhealthily pale and horrifyingly still. Was the doctor even…?

"JOHN!"

"Sherlock!" For a moment of bliss Sherlock, against all odds, savoured of hopes that it was John talking. But the blogger remained unmoving, instead DI Gregory Lestrade barged through the trees with a couple of his men in tow. There was a worried, nearly scared look on the man's face. "Mycroft… sent me a hint that you may be here." The man frowned, looking around. "Where's John?" And then, once the expression on Sherlock's face and the detective's position finally sunk in, the older man's eyes widened. The DI's face fell ghostly white. "Jesus Christ…!"

Sherlock's eyes stung in a infuriating manner. He gritted his teeth together as hard as he could before snarling out in a oddly choked voice. His heart was hammering at such speed that he wondered if it was about to give out. "Do something useful for once and call an ambulance!" he bellowed, sheer terror sharpening his tone.

Satisfied with seeing the still awfully pale Greg doing as he'd been told Sherlock returned his focus to John. Still not even the slightest bit of movement. Was the doctor's chest moving? It was infuriatingly hard to see in the semi-dark.

Sherlock's eyes flashed, some fire coursing through his system.

He wasn't about to sit back and watch John bleed. He wasn't about to sit around doing nothing. He wasn't planning on just watching John…

He was already beginning to jump right into the well, consequences be damned, until a firm pair of arms strapped him from behind. "Stop it!" Sally Donovan's voice was far deeper and shakier than usual. Her arms trembled when they tightened around him, her smaller body pulling his back with a astonishing amount of determination. "Are you completely daft? If you jump in there you'll get yourself hurt and then they'll have two people to rescue instead of one! It'd take them longer to get to John and right now every second counts! And I'm not going to let you get him or yourself killed, do you understand?"

Sherlock's breath wheezed while he stared at John with such a thunderstorm of emotions that he'd never, ever felt before. Sally's hold was nothing on him when he spun around to face her, adrenaline spiking up once more and his fist balling. For several stilled seconds they stared at each other in the pouring rain, their eyes wide and their breaths unnaturally loud. Although even a word wasn't uttered they both ended up speaking a lot more than they'd meant to.

Then, like nothing had ever happened, Sherlock turned around sharply once more, his hawk's eyes fixating on John like nothing else in the world existed. Truthfully, for a while nothing else indeed existed. He didn't even feel Greg's hand when it was laid to his shoulder.

* * *

Sherlock's mind ended up deleting a great amount of the events that followed. Including the more or less brutal way John was eventually hauled up, the whole process taking entirely too long. Including the fact that the doctor's heart stopped as soon as they got him up, like the man had simply decided to give in right there and then. It did, however, register to him that for almost three minutes John was dead right there before him. And there was a great chance that the next time his friend would die the man might not come back.

The clearest memory Sherlock had of the oncoming hours was that he attempted to follow John to the ambulance until a hand on his shoulder stopped him. There was a sad look on Greg's face. "Give them some room, alright? For John's sake. I'll give you a ride."

Sherlock glared at the DI but relented nonetheless, coming to a conclusion that as it was he didn't really have a choice. He refused to say a word while they made their way to the man's car that'd been parked much too far away. Finally sitting in the vehicle Sherlock wiped his cheeks furiously, wondering with a degree of annoyed confusion why it was raining in there.

* * *

The hospital's waiting room was cold, sterile and empty. Hateful. Sherlock couldn't bring himself to stop pacing. Nor was he able to keep his eyes from straying towards the clock.

Four hours, thirty minutes and sixteen seconds since he entered this room.

Sherlock's fingers spasmed while his eyes narrowed. He needed a cigarette, badly. He could practically imagine the scowl John would've given if the man heard his confession.

What the hell was taking them so long?!

His eyes swept quickly towards the room's door when it opened. Instead of a doctor in came Greg who looked like he hadn't slept in a week. Sherlock groaned, looking away like a petulant child.

"Still not a word, huh?" With a impressive amount of bravery Greg approached. Something was offered towards him. "Coffee. Black, with some sugar. I had a feeling that you might need it."

Sherlock nodded stiffly, hoping that it was enough of a thank you because there was no way he would've been able to speak. His hand squeezed around the take away mug so tightly that he nearly broke it. He barely noticed the uncomfortable amount of heat.

There was a sigh. Not his own exasperated one but tender, barely audible. "Sherlock…" Greg's voice was incredibly soft but not patronizing. Understanding, perhaps. "John's going to be just fine, you know?"

Sherlock glared at the man. He didn't like the way his eyes stung. "Shut up." Greg had no data to support that hypothesis. Sherlock _needed_ data. He needed…

He threw the mug of coffee all the way across the room, feeling a great deal more satisfaction than he should've at the sight of it spilling to the floor.

Greg sighed. "What a waste. In hospital standards that was a rather good cup of coffee." Sherlock felt eyes on him and made not meeting them a point. The DI spoke after about a minute. "Feeling better?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. His fists balled so tightly that nails nearly dug through skin. "No", he spat out, desperately trying to get rid of the horrific taste. No such luck. Of course he didn't feel better! How the hell did that great moron expect him to feel better until…?!

Right there Sherlock came to a conclusion that there was no way he'd be able to stand up much longer. Slumping to the nearest chair that he could find he pulled in deep, ragged breaths that didn't really bring much air into his lungs.

It was mildly amusing, the way everything began to spin.

Feeling far colder than would've been reasonable Sherlock pulled his feet to the chair and pressed them as tightly as he could against his chest. His breathing was far from even while he sat absolutely still, a raging look in his eyes that were focused on nothing. All he could see was the event playing itself over and over again in his head.

* * *

/ _It took Sherlock twenty-six hours to come up with something infuriatingly obvious. Each disappearance took place during a torrential rain. And there was one scheduled for that very day. In a flash he was making preparations for heading after the killer. Unfortunately John wasn't quite as fast._

_Sherlock growled, glancing towards the doctor. "Hurry up, John! The murderer isn't going to sit around waiting for us. You're wasting time."_

_John rolled his eyes. "I'm trying my best with this bloody leg." The psychosomatic limp that returned during Sherlock's absence was still a sore topic. Even the six months they'd been reunited hadn't erased it._

_Frustration and guilt formed a sour coctail in Sherlock's mouth. And before he knew it the poisonous words were out. "Maybe I'd do my job much better alone than with a cripple." The instant he saw the expression that rose to his friend's face he knew that he'd made a huge mistake. He swallowed loudly but couldn't gulp the words back. "John…"_

_John's eyes were sharp with hurt and anger. "Forget it", the formed soldier spat, marching past him with as much dignity and grace as the man was able to muster. "Now let's go. We shouldn't keep the cab waiting."_

_Sherlock stared how John disappeared, a million words dangling on his tongue but none of them making their way out. Following John a lot more tensely than usual he tried to convince himself that it was alright. He'd have all the time in the world to try and fix this._ /

* * *

Sherlock's throat became tight and blocked with all the things that he would've desperately wanted to say. He shivered, pressing his forehead against one of his knees. A shiver went all the way to his spine.

If he'd never get the chance to make John understand…

"Sherlock." Greg's tight voice pulled him out of that dark thought quite effectively. He was fairly sure that the older man had never sounded as scared.

Tensing up all the way to his core Sherlock allowed his eyes to whip towards the room's door. Approaching them was a doctor in his mid-fifties with mocha colored skin, dark eyes and a bald head. There was a grim, exhausted look in those eyes. One that never, ever predicted good news. It was the expression no one in Sherlock's position wanted to see.

Sherlock's heart plummeted to his stomach, it being scientifically impossible be damned.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Okay, so… This is not gonna be pretty, it seems. (winces) Poor Sherlock! And poor John, too, totally! (sighs)

Soooo… How was that, with the new POV? Any good at all? PLEASE, do let me know! Awww, c'mon, I know that the box down there is calling you. (smirks and winks)

I've really gotta dash, now! I REALLY hope that I'll see you all with the next and (sadly) last one. (Dang, this was fun to type!)

Take care!

* * *

**Guest**: It is! (groans at oneself) I'm thrilled to hear that you're enjoying the ride, anyway.

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

**Guest (2)**: Awww! Well, in that case I really hope that the next chapter meets your expectations. (gulps nervously)

Poor John, no? Let's hope that everything works out for those two. Things seem so very grim right now. (sighs)

Huge thank yous for the review!

* * *

**Anna P**: Hey, you DID review in the end! That's all that matters to me. (beams and hugs) Gosh, such kind words…! I really hope that you'll think just as highly of what's left of this story.

Colossal thank yous for the review!


	4. Please Wake Up

A/N: I seriously cannot believe that this is coming to an end already! (pouts and sobs) Let me tell you, this has been a fun ride.

BUT, before letting you get to the closure…! Thank you so much for the reviews the previous chapter received! They're loved dearly. (GLOMPS)

ONE MORE THING! I know that this is asking a lot, but… It seems that there were some technical problems considering the reviews for the previous chapters showing. So… If you sent a review and it isn't there, AND you have the time, could you try sending it again…?

Awkay, now I'm good. Let's go! I truly hope that you'll enjoy this.

* * *

Please Wake Up

* * *

Sherlock was only dimly aware of the world around him while he sat absolutely still, his breathing coming out in short, tight half gasps.

At first John's doctor told them that John most likely wouldn't live through the night. Then they were promised a couple of days, at most. That was almost two weeks earlier.

Now… Now Sherlock didn't have the slightest idea of what was going to happen and it was driving him out of his mind. All he knew was that John was still hanging on. Even after the fevers, infections, bloodloss, broken bones and three cardiac arrests his best friend was holding on to his life with tooth and nail.

The slightest change in the beep of John's heart monitor pulled Sherlock fast to the present. His eyes were sharp and most likely revealed far more than he would've liked as they observed, attempted to figure out what changed. It seemed that his friend's pulse and blood pressure had picked up slightly. Was that a good sign? Or was John in pain?

Sherlock forced himself to take a deep breath. Perhaps he overdid it because he found himself feeling dizzy. Slowly and subtly his hand tightened around John's. How long had he been holding on, anyway?

"This is getting incredibly infuriating", he informed his friend in a voice that didn't betray even a tenth of the storm blowing inside him. He swallowed, not liking the taste that was stuck in his throat. "I'm aware that I… misspoke, but… You're not someone told hold grudges. So… Can't you wake up already? Because this… This is unacceptable."

Only the beeping answered him. Signaling that John was still alive, still right there before him, but also somewhere impossibly far away. If Sherlock hadn't needed those sounds, that reassurance, to maintain what little was left of his sanity he would've smashed the machine with his own bare hands.

"You have a new nurse today", Sherlock went on. It didn't take all that much imagination to picture John listening to him anymore. "She seems to know what she's doing. She didn't like it when I inquired if she knew which one of the two doctors she's been sleeping with is the father of her unborn baby, though. How was it possible that she didn't know that she was pregnant at ten weeks?" He took a pause, wondering what John's input might've been. Most likely the doctor would've berated him for pestering the poor woman on such a delicate topic. He liked to imagine that his friend was appalled. _See, John? This is what happens when you're not here to stop me._

"Lestrade stopped by again, in case you were wondering. He comes almost every day but so far I haven't seen him take more than two steps from the doorway. I wonder why? It's infuriating." He could've sworn that he heard John's response. He blinked twice.

"Yes, of course", he groaned and rolled his eyes. Never noticing how his hand tightened still around John's. "Sentiment, right?"

Silence lingered heavily, only disturbed by the machines. Sherlock really wished that they'd be able to take John off the ventilator soon. It looked and sounded absolutely hideous.

Sherlock swallowed hard once more, his fingers finding their way to John's wrist almost subconsciously. In days like this it wasn't enough to see the pulse, the beat of life, on some screen. He needed to _feel_ it.

Sure enough, it was right there. But still a searing sensation he hated instantly rose to Sherlock's eyes when they strayed towards John and spotted no change. "Don't be dull, John", he half whispered, wondering why he sounded so choked. "Surely you know that I need more proof than this?"

There, his fingers on John's pulse and his eyes firmly on the sleeping doctor's face, Sherlock felt every little bit of the four days he'd been awake. And no matter how hard he fought that weight began to pull him under. The last thing he felt before the dark took over completely was the steady thrum.

Still he dreamt of John's dead, bloodied body on the forest floor.

* * *

In the end it was Mrs. Hudson who managed to coax Sherlock out of the room for the first time in fifteen days. Sherlock had been there, right beside John, even when the so called professionals were trying to tend to his friend and would've needed some space and privacy. The detective was hardly a quiet spectator, either. When Mrs. Hudson came and spotted him half passed out from starvation the woman dragged him out of the room after half an hour's debate, practically dragging him by his ear.

Sherlock was sadly aware of the sulking expression on his face while he sat in the hospital's cafeteria, which was the furthest he'd agreed to go, and attempted to consume a over prized sandwich that he didn't even want. It seemed to take ages before he was finally done. "There, I ate all of it", he growled, shivering while pushing the wrapping away harshly. "Satisfied?"

Mrs. Hudson sighed and looked at him with sad eyes that somehow succeeded in making him feel ten times worse. "Don't be that way, dear. You know that John would want you to take care of yourself."

Sherlock's breath caught and he coughed awkwardly a couple of times, wondering what the appropriate reaction would've been. Why were his hands shaking? "Hmph", was what he managed in the end.

Something in Mrs. Hudson's eyes told him that she understood better than he did. Without a warning she took his hand and squeezed. "He never once stopped believing in you, you know?" She tried to smile but it didn't come out quite right. "Now… Now you need to have that same faith in him."

For a few moments Sherlock stared. Several people would've been amused by the way the mighty Holmes was struck speechless. Then, very slowly, he nodded. "I'm trying."

It took almost an hour and a half before Sherlock managed to convince himself into approaching John's room once more. Once he did he froze exactly two steps away from the door. Apparently he wasn't the good doctor's only visitor.

For right there, talking to John, was Molly Hooper. Her hand twitched, like she hadn't been quite able to decide whether she should touch John or not. In the end she laid the hand to the sleeping man's, softly, tenderly.

"I… I'm sorry that I didn't come sooner. But…" It was easy to sense the excuse building up but the words died into her throat. Sherlock was glad. John didn't appreciate being lied to, after all. Molly's voice was barely audible when she went on. "Look, there's a reason why I needed to talk to you. It's about Sherlock."

Sherlock stiffened and frowned. It took a degree of self control to keep himself from barging into the room right there. Perhaps it was curiosity. He really wanted to hear what, exactly, Molly had to say.

She sighed loudly, appearing sadder than he'd ever seen her. "I'm not good at reading people, like he is. But I can tell that he's terribly sad, scared and guilty right now. I… don't know what happened between the two of you. And I don't blame you for being mad at him. I'll admit that he isn't the easiest person to be around sometimes. But…" She wiped her eyes quickly, as though fearing that someone would see her tears although she thought that she was alone. "He needs you, John. More than he's ever needed anything or anyone in his entire life. Surely you know that, whatever he said to you. I know that he's your best friend, but to him… To him you're the centre of his world."

Sherlock felt incredibly cold all of a sudden and wrapped his arms tightly around himself in a feeble attempt to shield himself. His eyes and throat… They didn't feel quite right, nor did his chest. Why couldn't she shut up already? She was making him…

Molly's thumb stroked John's hand, careful to avoid all the tubes and wires. Her gestures were slow, cautious. "Wake up, John. Please. Sherlock misses you. We all do."

Right there Sherlock decided that he was done listening. Faster than he could've ever imagined possible he spun around and dashed away, in some miraculous way managing to keep his steps so quiet that Molly didn't hear. He didn't hear the change in John's heart monitor.

In the end Sherlock half stumbled, half dashed into the nearest restroom. He was pleased to discover that it was empty. He certainly didn't want audience before he'd gotten over this infuriating bout of over-sentimentality.

Sherlock had no idea how long he stood there, holding on to the sink so hard that his knuckles turned white and his blurry eyes determinedly on the far from clean depths. His breaths came out in wheezing puffs and he found himself hating the sound. Why wouldn't he stop shaking?

It was unclear how long it took before he lifted his head to see his own image. He blinked once with appalled shock at what he discovered. Real, honest tears were rolling down his cheeks.

During the two hours he spent in the restroom Sherlock allowed himself to really, truly fear for the first time. That John wouldn't wake up. That he'd lost his best friend forever. The feeling was paralyzing and he decided that he detested it beyond all things.

* * *

In the early hours of the following morning John's doctor came to a decision that his friend was stable enough to be taken off the ventilator. Sherlock observed the whole procedure with careful hawk's eyes, no matter how many times he was more or less politely asked to leave the room. Watching John breathing on his own, each inhale and exhale a little too loud but definitely the former soldier's own, Sherlock allowed himself a small, secret smile that the room's shadows disguised.

* * *

Four more days passed by without a lot of changes. Nothing improved but things didn't worsen, either. There were no new infections or complications. John… simply slept on. And Sherlock found himself waiting, no matter how much it infuriated him.

Sherlock had no idea how his transport betrayed him so completely but in the end he drifted into a deep, serene slumber. He didn't even have dreams. Not until out of the blue he heard John's voice whispering.

_"Wake up, Sherlock."_

Obediently the detective's eyes flew open. He breathed in and out before he managed to regain his senses enough to glance John's way. What he discovered made his heart perform a move that quite possibly wasn't strictly healthy.

John was frowning and the doctor's hand was moving, as though searching.

Sherlock was on his feet much faster than his head would've approved, instantly moving towards his friend. His hand grabbed John's searching one like it'd been the most natural thing in the whole world. "John?" His voice was far more feeble than he would've liked, almost scared, but as it was he didn't give a damn. The hand in his twitched in a instant, instinctive reaction to his voice. Sherlock couldn't quite fight back the smile. "John, open your eyes, will you? I'm aware of your irritating need for rest but this is getting ridiculous."

Sherlock nearly held his breath while John's eyelids fluttered, the military man's brows furrowing with effort. And then, after a mighty struggle, he was able to catch a glimpse of midnight blue. At first there was a clearly visible degree of confusion until John's expression moulded into something Sherlock, even with the best of attempts, couldn't quite read.

Sherlock's stomach plummeted, right there. He swallowed loudly, busying himself with observing the machinery. "I… What I said…"

"I know." John's voice was hoarse and quiet but the tone was firm. Enough so to convince him into looking back at the doctor. Those eyes were soft and there was even a thin smile. "But looking at you… I think you've had your punishment." The smaller man's eyelids were already fluttering. Clearly even this tiny amount of strain was still a little bit too much. Still it was easy to see how hard to man fought against going back under.

Sherlock took a deep breath, pleased to discover that the ton's weight that'd been sitting on his chest had shifted. Breathing felt easy and natural once more. "Go back to sleep, John. I'll be here when you wake up."

Obviously trusting him completely John indeed closed his eyes. With a contented sigh the doctor fell asleep in a matter of seconds. Never even attempting to free his wrist from Sherlock's hold.

For a few more moments Sherlock kept watch, the thunder of thoughts in his head almost completely silent for once. At the moment there was only one thing that fit in. In the end he couldn't fight the exhaustion any longer, either. He fell asleep with the knowledge that everything was going to work out. That everything was alright in the world once more.

Outside the sun was shining.

About half an hour later a nurse peered into the room and smiled at the sight of the sleeping friends. As quietly as she could she made sure that her patient was alright, then left the room. It was quite clear that both Dr. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes had everything they needed.

* * *

**_End._**

* * *

A/N: Hmm, perhaps I'm not pure evil, after all. I actually gave this one a happy ending! (grins) Awww, and Sherlock was able to ease his guilt.

Soooo… How was that? Any good, at all? PLEASE, do let me know! I'm always a bit insecure when it comest to final chapters so your opinion would mean a lot. (gives puppy eyes)

THANK YOU, so very much, for reading, reviewing and listing this story! I'm really happy that I haven't been the only one who's enjoyed this ride. (beams, and HUGS)

Who knows, maybe I'll see you guys again. For now, thank you, and take care!


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